
Class/ 3< ?r3 r 5T 

Book. Q&i&v- 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE SECRET PLACE 



AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 

CHARLES W. RUSSELL 

Author of 
"Lays of the Seasons." 

(privately printed.) 



COPYRIGHT, A. D. I91 I 



TRESS OF GIBSON BROS. 
WASHINGTON, D. C. 




<7t < 



gCI.A3l2493 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

In Gulistan, .._ 4 

Sefiora, - ...^ 

Alone, ------- j 

Following, ----- 8 

Sunset, --.. g 

Wherefore?- ------- IO 

Song, ------ n 

Lady, ------- I2 

An Evening Drive, 13 

La Cenci, -14 

Serene, - ------15. 

Lazzarone, ----- - 16 

Cypress, - - - - _ jj 

Andromache, -----,___. 18 
Sapho, ------------19 

Alexander's Tomb, - -21 

Venus de Milo, ---------- 22 

To Thee, - 23 

Iranian, - --24 

Birds, --- ---25 

Night in the Desert, - - - 26 

Ingratitude, ---------- 2 j 

The Cradle-land, --------- 2 8 

Dawn in the Desert, --------- 29 

Wandering, -----------30 

The Dream of Ruth, - - - - - - - - 31 

Peace, --------- 34 

Evensong, - - - 35 



Page. 

Absence, ---36 

Thine Angelus, ----37 

The Miser, ----------- 38 

Forever, - -39 

Folly, - - 40 

Comfort, ----- -41 

After, ------ - 42 

Sere, - 43 

Twilight, -----------44 

Song, ------------ 45 

Farewell, ------ 46 

Come, .----47 

The Secret Place, - - 48 



IN GULISTAN. 



Ye clear hills in the blue above Tehran ' 
In Kashmere's dove-tint drapery arrayed, 

It may be that ye can, 
By some deep charm of folding smoothness aid, 
Ye thro' whose snow-clouds soft (to waking man) 

Seem angels' pathways laid, 
Tho' 'mid these bowers her tale the widow tells 
And 'neath such skies a waiting people dwells. 

But here yon fearless bulbul with a song 
Alone dares brave the beauty of the night! 

He pauseth oft and long 
Deep drafts to take of peace and of delight, 
Checking the silence when 'tis grown too strong 

And rapturously bright, 
Darkly enchambered in the silver trees, 
Disdaining sleep for more luxurious ease. 

Now thro' the nunnery of white blooms the sheen 
Of locust, apple, orange-blossoms, all 

May's prelude trembles. Seen 
By those thro' whom his loud, clear measures fall, 
The shadows lighten and the lights between 

Are living wings. The tall 
Poplars beside the running waters keep 
Watch near the pools wherein their brothers sleep. 

An hour ago, impatient at the sun, 

To eve and spring and love his first All hail 

Thro' luminous aisles might run. 
Then, into tufts, not shaking them, his pale 
Brown coat he slipped, and stopped each stave begun. 

From wells that do not fail 
He brought these notes of night that drench like rain, 
From what sweet dell close-hid from grief and pain? 



SENORA. 



Senora, let much fanning be 

And listen ; there is on my mind, 

Or in my blood, a word for thee; 
And I would have it soft and kind. 

The gold rim on thy languid arm, 

The whiteness of that small white glove 

For such as thou may have a charm — 
Not truth — not loyalty— nor love. 

1 Oh, love — my love — is low desire, — 

'Twas clear, that since our game began. 
'Twas not thy fault if too much fire 
Was kindled by a careless fan. 

Jose would not insult thee so." 

Such coquetry as coiled and sprung ! 

With kindly words — 'tis best — I go. 

But who would dream? — and one is young! 

' Jose" can love a woman well : 

He holds her kindly in his arms; 

And Josh's not the man to tell 

How much he knows about her charms" 

Jose — Jose" ! — yes — yes, — I know. 

And yet I deemed this woman good — 
Dreamed that but holy fires could glow 

In eyes so soft! Twas but a mood — 



One sweet hour wandering from far days 
To shrivel in the glare of shame. 

Don Jose" take thee ! — go thy ways ! 
Play on with other hearts thy "game!" 

How daintily that raven hair 

She decked for me with trembling spray 
Plucked from a living bird! She'd wear 

My love thus for some Don Jose" ! 

"My love — ah, love is but a word 
For silly maidens of sixteen ! 
For thee the dance — the eye-sight blurred 
With wine, and kisses crushed between. 

I stay too long, — my presence tires; 

But this, the final time, thou'lt bear 
The torture, since Jose" admires 

Thy patience toward me." Have a care! 

Sefiora, if not love, there's fear! 

What have I said? Ah, stay — yet stay! 
For if 'tis pain to have thee near, 

I shall go mad with thee away! 

'I must forgive, then, this, — the worst?" 

So, thou wilt thou drag me in the dust? 
Yet, by thy dark-eyed beauty cursed, 
I love thee still because I must. 

Nay ! — wherefore cast beneath thy feet 

That feather? — it is fair to see. 
'That crime thou never shalt repeat" 
My pain, alas, was naught to thee ! 

But have I erred and done thee wrong? 

Jose? " I am thy Don Jose\ — 
To me — a fool — thou dost belong!" 

A pardon, on my knees, I pray! 



ALONE. 



Oh tell me, dost thou blame and hast thou sorrow? — 

Dost brood on that wild hour 
When thou did'st beg of me — did'st pray to borrow 

Wisdom, or calm, or power 

Which lay beyond thee and thy heart of woman, — 

That lost hour when I could 
Have stilled and left thee — had we been less human — 

Had I myself withstood, — 

When with my all of dark laid bare before thee — 

Full many a spot and stain, 
Thou could'st not stem the flood-tide that rushed o'er thee 

From the uncharted main? 

Ah, we have seen each other well ! — one only 

Thus may each one behold, 
But after, dear, the world is nowhere lonely, 

The heart grows never cold. 

Now never may our Pleiades unheeded 

Before thee spread their skein, 
Nor quite may fail the faint, the sorely needed 

Hope all will be again. 

So, then, dream on — ah, wake not from a dreaming 

In which thy heart's all lies, 
All peace, all promise, be it sooth or seeming, 

The starlight of such skies ! 



FOLLOWING. 



While the seasons ebb and flow 
In the dalliance of the sun, 

While the roses come and go 
And the swift hours one by one, 

Drop the black beads and bright chain 

Of thy clear and tender strain. 

Not to grace the careless arm 

Of a nation bringest thou, 
Pain-born, from that bosom warm, 

Jewels, nor to deck thy brow: 
Thou dost know and feel, and just 
Singest on because thou must. 

Thou whose eyes still keep the blue 
Of a heaven beyond our ken, 

Thou dost wondrous gates undo 
Of strange melody, which then 

Falleth soft o'er domes and towers 

And o'er parched hearts, like showers 

For thy lyre is tuned unto 

Sounds that sleeping angels dream. 
Tones like thine, from urns of blue, 

Madder ages might redeem, 
With their sad and sweet refrains 
Waking what of tears remains. 

Softly as her star the moon, 

Or as sunset after rain. 
Or as faith and hope full soon 

Follow when buds wake again, 
So the wandering world ere long 
Follows thee and thy lone song 



SUNSET. 



When its great white bloom the land 
Opened 'neath a dawn serene 

Help was none, — on every hand 
Sorrow wounded clear and keen: 

Like a desert lay the pain 

That we ne'er should meet again. 

i 
Now at eve wide seas between 

Are a story that is told, — 
Years, farewells that might have been; 

Unseen arms — thine arms — enfold 
My lone eyes like brooding wings 
And thy love is near and sings, — 

Sings me to the far-off day 

When thy smile would flatter grief 
Even in a mother's way, — 

Sings of life no longer brief 
Together, and a rain-bow nigh 
Trailing roses thro' the sky. 



WHEREFORE. 



Up where the snow-cloud moors its prow 
The swallows soar, and then flash near 

In mocking lowliness where thou 
And I, poor underlings, wait here : 

Up where their squadrons wheel the crows, 

Down where the close-hid violet blows. 

For then the romping stream doth leap 
Huge boulders, and the lusty breeze 

Blow bugle-notes, and shadows sweep 
Refreshing coolness thro' the trees, — 

The vagabonds, whose trooping call 

Makes heaven's blue bell ring musical ! 

But lonely now the garden pond 
That waited thro' the sunny hours, 

And desolate the trees beyond 

The high wall and the darkening flowers, 

And touches still the silent sky, — 

But we — we love them — thou and I. 

It may be for a childhood's day 

Beside a stream in summer shade, — 

It may be for the kindly way 
They gossip when love vows are made; 

Why linger, as when people stand 

With news from home in alien land? 



SONG. 



Come with roses, — ring the bell! 

Ring it well, — gay throngs are moving 
Round the carriage, laughing, shoving, — 

What is life save only loving? 
Scatter roses, — ring the bell ! 

Bring ye lilies, — ring the bell! 

Ring the bell, — fair lids are smarting, 
Fair cheeks cold and fresh tears starting,- 

There's a death, — they call it parting,- 
There's a death, — so ring its knell! 



LADY. 



Do but let me live awhile, 
Dainty lady free from guile, 
Thou whose future and whose past 
Trouble never, but each pain 
Of another finds refrain 
And is all the woe thou hast. 

Let me stay, and have no fear, — 
Evil never could come here; 
Were it lost in this sweet place, 
It would in thine own surprise 
Share, and shrink and hide its face 
From the light that round thee lies. 

How thy laughter, Lady fine, 
Lifts me to a joy like thine! — 
As the soft Italian skies 
Lift me, when the glad sun flings 
(Mid the down of angels' wings) 
Ladders from the realms divine. 

Tho' no sisters of the faun, 
Tho' no daughters of the dawn 
Whom the drowsy flowers caress 
For thy handmaids worthy be, — 
Yet the grass thy feet may press — 
Even the weeds are touched by thee. 

Being from some radiant sphere, 
Do but let me linger near, — 
Me, with many a wound and stain. 
For my dark night be a star, — 
Light me — bless me — near or far, 
None the worse for what I gain. 



AN EVENING DRIVE. 



Behold yon picture overhead 

Of life in Pozzuoli : 
A woman sewing — by her bed 

A shrine of virgin holy. 
Comfort thence she long hath sought 

(Hard her life and lowly). 
Rest thee, dame, and pray awhile ! 

Tho' we passers-by may smile, 
Yet we pass more slowly. 

Many a lady for thy cot 
Gladly would forsake her lot, 

If her jeweled hand, as thine 
Might, in melancholy, 

Rest in peace upon the shrine 
Passed in Pozzuoli. 



LA CENCI. 



Guido, thine Ecce Homo's face may tell 

How high his faith has borne the Christian's art; 
Thy brain and hand have wrought it wondrous well. 

This Ecce Femina was by thy heart 
All pitifully drawn, — as like, we know, 

As that the judge who then could dare to slay 
A trembling dove already wounded so 

Did shrink from daily to his final day, — 
His pain like this we suffer now, — for us 

She punishes, — one woman for them all. 

O worthy Guido ! — but we pray that thus 

No Guidos more may our rude hearts appall ; 
But let our passing victims to the veil 

In peace withdraw such patient looks and pale. 



SERENE. 



He might have died and she alas ! lived on, 
He might have left her to her grieving here, 

Left one to whom, as woman, love was all. 

He thinks it is as well that she is gone. 
He who is left is dull — even one so dear 

Remembers little — can but scarce recall 
Her features — any save the tender eyes 
Wherein her soul, in all its beauty, lies. 

He thinks 'tis well, since both their hearts have rest. 

He thinks she was not for a world like this, — 
A world unkind or mad, which will not see 
Who are the good,— nay, even tho' the best. 

'Twas sad he wakened from a dream of bliss, 
Yet not so sad, for, after all, 'twas he. 

For ah ! he thinks hath never left her eyes 

That dream, but comforts her in Paradise. 



>5 



LAZZARONE. 



Where the lazy lazzarone 
Gulp their evening maccaroni 
Still the birds of black are flitting, 
Weaving auguries as ever, 
In a patient, slow endeavor, 
Or on ruined columns sitting. 

Jeered these lazy lazzarone 

Caesar in his glory car 

When he flew the wild war eagle 

Where the cloudy oceans are, — 

Gazed and gaped thro' all the stages 

Of the drama later ages 

(When a priestly finger lifted 

Bade yet larger scenes be shifted) 

Played where he had played at war; 

Played at ruling far-off regions 

Which no Caesar's bloody legions 

Saw, or ever dreamed so far; 

While these birds of black, but changing 

For an old a newer column, 

To and fro, in silent, solemn 

Flight of augury, went ranging. 

Nero and Savonarola, 
Tarquin and Rienzi Cola, 
Tarquin's Lucrece and the dame 
Lucrece of another fame, 
Laughter, license, love and tears 
Twisting in and out the years; 
And these faithful birds thro' all 
Auguring of good — not ills, 
Weaving o'er thy deathless brow 
Ever some new coronal 
Fair as is the thin moon now 
Come again to deck thy hills. 



CYPRESS. 



The cypress plumes, as well they may, in Rome 

Mourn with a special beauty, and of all 
Fairest, as should be, cluster round the tomb 

Of one who heard their call. 
Here sorrow, in her everlasting home, 

His chant funereal 
For Adonais yet doth lean to hear 

Whose echoes fainted on the singer's bier. 

Ye seek all vainly for a third fair grave : 

She doth not lie where such a heart should rest — 
She who so rashly and so fondly gave 

The refuge of her breast 
That lorn Actaeon from his hounds to save ; 

But, slanting from the west, 
The loving sunbeams linger on the grass 

Above him, — then to Adonais pass. 

Twin spirits suckled in wild war by song 

And to a heedless generation given, 
Sweetly they slumber! Here nor grief nor wrong 

May come. Their skiffs, far driven 
Beyond the pathways which to ships belong 

And by mad lightnings riven, 
Here, underneath their loved Italian sky, 

Together in earth's fairest haven lie. 

And standing here, where beauty speaks of death 

As of a sweet release from tragic pain, 
I live one hour again, with bated breath, 

Now long in memory lain — 
That hour of hours for thee and me, when 'neath 

The starlight lived we twain, 
Spirit to spirit clinging, — thro' the haze 

Glimpsing the fearful parting of the ways. 



ANDROMACHE. 



Temples sublime which long had lived to tell 

Far times the magic of their maker's wand, 
From reckless Turkish and Venetian shell 

Were called, when hopeless ruins, to withstand 
The stroke of war; and wondrous works in gold 

Or bronze soon tempted spoilers, 'ere the awe 
Departed from the stories which they told, 

Or sank beneath the ban of creed or law; 
But thou, Andromache, thou poet's breath — 

Thou thing of naught, — dost linger by the side 
Of Hector, 'ere he hastens to his death, 

Thy cheek as fresh as when thou wert a bride : 
Thy soft eye dropped upon his infant's hand 

A tear not yet, and never to be, dried. 



i .8 



SAPHO. 



Tis the hour of love, — 
Linger not, fair maiden. 

Sapho, here, above, 

All the boughs are laden 

With flowers, for curtains of 
My poet's home — my Aidden! 

Sweet and clear the urn 

Of thy silver singing, 
Tears that bless and burn 

To the fond one bringing: 
Love's best dreams return, 

Round his wild heart clinging. 

As the grapes from vines 
Hang thy cluster'd tresses: 

More than all their wines 
Are thy fond caresses 

When the love-light shines 
O'er life's dark distresses. 

Thy throat uttereth 

Such a balmy breathing 

As the cedar's breath 

In the night wind seething, 

Or that of flowers, their death 
In new glories sheathing. 

Brightly glows thine arm 
As the beams that tan it; 

Lightlier moves thy form 
Than the airs that fan it; 

Beauties rich and warm 

(Like the ripe pomegranate) 



Linger round thy mouth, 

And in dizzy whirls 
Pass, to where love's drouth 

Thy soft eyelid furls 
When the purpled South 

Spells that conquer hurls. 

Maenad! — from wild hymns 
By love led apart, — 

Dian ! — (breast and limbs — 
None of Dian's heart), 

Through whom madly swims 
Everything thou art, 

Hail! — and farewell care! 

Joy now pain replaces: 
O'er thy queenly air 

Play now gentle graces, 
As about thy hair 

Light soft shadow chases. 

Wondrous keen the spear 
Now aside thou sayest; 

Wondrous sweet to hear 
What full low thou layest 

When in love drawn near 
Thou thy heart betrayest. 



ALEXANDER'S TOMB. 



The fairest marble ever artist's hand 

Did kindle, stood where was, or may have been, 
Great Sidon — now mid turbaned Turks doth stand, 

To outlast Stamboul. Light they had not seen — 
Its Greeks and Persians, — many and many an age; 

But not for hearts like theirs hath lost its joy 
This lusty life; for yet they haste to wage 

Glad battle for their glorious Grecian boy 
Or Darab, mighty King of Kings, beside; 

Or, where the almost winded deer doth fly 
Those foes turned friends, on keen-limbed Arabs ride. 

Above the oblong marble's corners lie 
Four sleepless lions; but enough of fear 

Casts beauty, tramping with her quivering spear. 



VENUS DE MILO. 



The sheep, as still as when the Grecian bard 

Caressed them with the sweetness of his song, 
Above thee lingered near a scanty yard 

Of ruined pillar. This might once belong 
To temple whither victors, battle-scarred, 

With hymns to gods now dead were borne along. 
The blows of time have not thy glory marred, 

O Milo ! — calm as in the quarry's womb 
And fair as when grew pale the artist's brow, 

By thee made wild! New risen from the tomb, 
Thine arms no votary decks with April's bloom: 

Forgetting pagan days, thou reachest now 
Hands all unseen, in pity for the doom, 

Not of old gods, but women sweet as thou. 



TO THEE! 



No campo santo sees thy form in stone, 
Yet hast thou truly a memorial — one 
As loving — not more sure to melt away; 
For it is I, whom thou has left so lone : — 

It is I, only, — ah, the glittering whole 
Not ample were of heaven's inverted bowl 
To fill the measure of a tomb for thee, 
Could any tomb bring comfort to thy soul ! 

But it is I who, as the beads are told 

Upon Time's rosary of jet and gold, 

Still wait to learn the secret thou should'st know,- 

What, at the end, his fingers may unfold. 



IRANIAN. 



'Tis she whom I could doubt when near 
Illuminates these pictured skies, — 

More bright than fall of pity's tear 
Or dew in lily lies,— - 

She, lovelier than the moon and star 
Wan evening in the ear of night 

Departing hangs — more dear by far — 
As dear as lost delight, — 

Yea — down the billowy desert's coast, 
Its gilded capes that ring afar, 

'Tis music's tones I love the most 
The palpitating skies unbar, — 

For thro' the wild a splendor sings 
Which, singing, to my heart replies: 

All melted are the frozen springs, 
The buried longings rise. 



H 



BIRDS. 



Sublime as chaos at the dawn of peace, 

Above, below, for distant eons wait 
Sheer precipices, in unseen decrease 

Still crumbling, like the fortunes of the great. 
Afar and lower, at the foot of all 

The blinded desert writhes beneath the sun. 
But overhead I hear the frequent call 

Of birds which hither, thither sail and run, 
By nothing save the joy of living driven; 

And down the sunbeams, like a waterfall, 

Their rippling song is poured from quivering heaven 

When ecstacies oppress beyond control,— 
Sweet as the grace sent down to saintly soul 

Or calm unto a sinner's, when forgiven. 



*5 



NIGHT IN THE DESERT. 



Thou hast seen the wondrous miracle when o'er us, 

Where hung the sky and sun, 
In the transfigured depths are set before us 

The sweet stars every one, — 

As wondrous as should further revelation 

Transform or hide each star, 
With our poor, fragile fleshly habitation — 

All things that round us are — 

And usher to our ken scenes yet more siJ< ndid 

Where love, this love we share, 
Would be by deeper harmonies attended 

In yet serener air, — 

Like trees we see in waters dimmed and broken 

But over, straight and tall, 
Would take a marvelous meaning, here unspoken, 

Fair dreams fulfilling all. 



INGRATITUDE. 



Ye vast companions of man's vaster mind, 

Primeval habitants, of chaos born, 

Whose inmost bowels man for gold hath torn, 

Whose horny skin hath ripped that he might find 

The still more precious wealth of golden grain, — 

Ye who have been his bulwark when he fought 

With beasts, his school where liberty was taught, 

And fed his flocks in your most sacred fane ; 

For those things have ye little thanks — no rest. 

Yea, after this, the wandering poets glean : 

These from your trembling blue, more thought tlnni seen, 

Take further harvest, ere the drunken west 

Kindles your tops to make a funeral pyre 

For pale, dead day and sets the heavens on fire. 



THE CRADLE-LAND. 



Rugged and bare the pathless mountains rise, 

Their jagged capes thrust out into the blue 
Of heaven's serenest ocean. Neath me lies 

(So poised a lighting eagle might undo) 
Full many a vast, mishapen ball of stone, 

Near-ripened for the hand of fate to pull : 
Below, the gleaming of the sand alone 

In billows rolled or lying tired and dull ; — 
Scenes where, with Job's lament, in verse began 

Our paltry record as it yet remains. 
And here the sorrows and the ways of man 

Have altered little since. Below, the plains 
Cry: "Vanity — all vanity!" — toward kindlier skies 

The fainting traveler lifts imploring eyes. 



;S 



DAWN IN THE DESERT. 



High on the tip of morning and a hill 

I saw two women, one long- veiled, but now 

Uncovered. They were still ; 
And I would not a voice like mine allow 
To rouse from dreaming that grim peak, until 

I knew that it was thou ! — 
Thou, Ruth, with patient steps more eloquent 
Than that dear speech in Moab 'ere ye went. 

"Ah, Ruth!" I said, forgetting, "here again 
Meet thou and I who parted long ago, — 

So long ago in pain!" 
She answered not, — alas, that it was so! 
"Ah, Ruth — sweet Ruth! my heart so long hath lain 

So chill, Ruth, and so low!" 
Gently she took Naomi by the hand 
And pointed toward the road across the sand. 

"See!" then she said, "our way now level lies; 
'Tis long and hard and weary in the sun 

And in the dust that flies; 
But clearer to the sight its windings run, 
More still the air, and bluer, too, the skies." 

And 'ere these words were done, 
She turned to us and smiled, — and ah ! I thought 
That look not meant for her who needed not! 



WANDERING. 



His father's cot, in valley sheltered deep 
And framed about with gently rustling leaves, 

Haunts the tossed sailor's sleep; 
A matted vine beneath a porch's eaves 
Makes sad far birds, whose breasts in absence keep 

A music which relieves: 
Me the wild flock of mountains whence I came 
Calls ever — elsewhere all is void or tame. 

There the sleek beech is mottled o'er with light 
And scaly, like a serpent, lifts the pine. 

'Mid dark green burning bright 
I love to see the gum-tree's red leaf shine. 
There sprawls the grape, with reckless waste of might; 

There moves the graceful line 
Of cat or snake, swift death in beauty furled, 
'Mid noxious herbs, the wildwood's underworld. 

There on a royal couch of green to lie ! 

Ah, there, while near obsequious trees should wave 

Their gorgeous fans, could I 
Yield to soft waters and grey rocks they lave, 
To ladder-rungs of light that toward the sky 

Lift from the sparkling wave, 
Hear unrepining voices, feel kind eyes 
Of some small poet, singing e're he flies! 



THE DREAM OF RUTH. 



(i) 

A splendor trembling in a pallid form 
And therefrom tip-toed in the act to start 
But pausing, angel-wise, at sight of harm 

To wounded creatures, from the herd apart, — 
So ran my dream. Ruth, silent as a flower, 
Did look too long, too near, upon a heart 

Which, little as a widowed bird, had power 

To conjure hope, — whose morn and noon and night 

Passed like the printless footsteps of an hour 

Or shadow of a far cloud's dizzy flight 

Which hastes o'er summer fields and leaves no trace. 

She read what elder saw not, — she, a child, 

To him an airy elf, whose laughing grace 
Bespoke clear days by not one care defiled. 
So, as a child, he kissed her on the stair 

At bed-time, when she paused, — it seems he smiled 
And, knowing not, upon her wayward hair, 
Gently a consecrating hand let fall. 

But soon the parting, — she to placid hall 
Where kindly sisters kindness taught returned, 
He to the strife for which, till then, he burned. 

(2) 

And then years passed, — he heard men call them years 
He marked them little; and again they met, 
Ruth still a child, with all that most endears 



Of sweet and true and helpful. No regret 
Within her heart's still precincts might abide, 
But thoughts which made her poorer to forget. 

More years and lo! a wondrous maid was there, 
A rare, pale maiden; and the child had died. 
Serener than the child's her look and air, 

More prone, he thought, to laughter; and the rest 
(When they and Ruth and he drew side by side) 
Drank eagerly her song, her jest, her merry shout. 

Tremor nor sigh might have her leave to say 

She marked his presence. Into it and out 

She came and went ; and then passed on her way. 

And she of all seemed youngest— and most blest, 
Young were her eyes, her smiles like opening flowers. 
Each day was cheated now of half its hours. 

(3) 

Well, be what will, the slowest years move on 

And changes come. So Ruth, he knew, was changed; 

For she is coming, all her girl days done. 

He saw, — he heard, — 'twas not as fear arranged, 
Forgotten peace was his, 'ere she was gone. 
And many loved her who are now estranged. 

But from her womanhood not yet was won 
Her heart's lone secret,— more it never knew : 
'Twas later guessed from broken words and few. 

(4) 

There fell a noon ; and in the garden slept 
Tired summer, resting from maternal care 
Of flowers full-grown. Beneath a tree they kept 

32 



A drowsy vigil. Bees were flumbling there, 
Fretting the clover-blooms and cosmos tall. 
Then Ruth her long-hid kindness could declare, 

(But scarce articulate were the words let fall), 
How she would bring young life to patient eyes,- 
How of her youth she strove to lend him all. 

Then pointing to some testy wasps that made 
A meal of yellow apple, waits and tries 
Again to speak; but, of more speech afraid, 



I dreamed still more ; but do not bid me tell ! 
And stranger than the dream was my surprise 
And what in this dim wakinsr world befell. 



PEACE. 



my comrades, why such eagerness and hasting, 
Such gulping down of life and never tasting? 

1 am going, — you may tarry here in town. 
The trees do not hurry in their growing, 
Nor even the little flowers to their blowing, 
Nor the red leaf to its fall among the brown. 

Ye will not hide yourselves where I shall hide me, 
Where fern and laurel linger green beside me, 
And soothe the hectic year with dreams of spring ; 
Ye will not know the wild primeval feeling 
When solitude and stillness, gently stealing, 
Untie the cords that bind the spirit's wing; 
Ye will not hear life's undersong the ocean 
Singe th around the keen ship's quiet motion 
And the cedars and the hidden rivers sing. 



EVENSONG. 



Now from the shadows fly the swifts, Irene, 

As we have watched them fly, 
And from the darkened years return 

Lost doves of memory — 
And odors of a purple land 

Where linger thou and I, 

Unknowing, near the parting of the ways, Irene, 

Two children who, in play, 
Are lost — quite lost — upon the shore 

Of one fair summer day. 
For now your love's awakening hours 
The veil hath dropped away. 

Which seemeth all too near to me, Irene, 

Too dreary and too bright; 
Which hideth from the longing eyes 

The beauty of the night 
And from the lonely heart shuts out 

A heaven of sweeter light. 



35 



ABSENCE. 



Ah, I wonder if thou knowest 
How my love is love indeed, 

Or the comfort thou bestowest 
In my loneliness and need, — 

Thro' the day where'er thou goest 
That my thoughts are bees that feed! 

Ah, and when the dusky even' 
Steals the day and night between 

Dost thou know them in the heaven, — 
Dost thou know their flying keen 

By mad gladness made uneven, — 
Are they heard, or felt, or seen? 

Then they linger to behold thee 
From the lightning of their flight; 

Then they weave around to fold thee 
In the charmed peace of night. 

Have they whispered thee and told thee 
What is winging their delight? 



36 



THINE ANGELUS. 



Dawn and eve and eve and dawn 
Come with dews and come with rain 

For the roses, — roses gone, 

Still bring thee dear thoughts again. 

Dawn or eve, if dark or fair, 

Little doth my darling care. 

Blithely as the mock-birds run 
Flaring over dawn's pale grass 

Or white pigeon in the sun 

Swings to feel eve's breezes pass, 

So thy soul doth find or leave 

Sweet repose at dawn or eve. 

Gently bells ring thro' the morn, 
Gentlier at the close of day, 

Ringing into hearts forlorn 

Comfort and the grace to pray, 

Ringing tears, but tears divine 

For that happy heart of thine. 



THE MISER. 



How like a mute, bedraggled dove 
Day quivers, wounded, where it lies ! 
And softer are wan memory's cries, 
And kind lean down grey clouds above. 

Not here the white reproachful gleam, 
The cold, hard, candor of the skies, 
Or fleckless covering that lies 
And makes last summer's face a dream. 

Not here pure snow-drops high o'er eaves, 
To be like angels' footsteps lifted, 
But dingy shreds by each wind shifted 
Through miry pathways when it grieves. 

Yet here, where ragged mould reeks wet, 
The green leaves glint in cameo white, 
The rich red berries flame out bright, — 
And tremble priceless sprays of jet. 

Ah, here I love to hide my woe, — 
My jewel (while with hers the wild 
Doth soothe me like a sobbing child) — 
My dearest jewel — in the snow ! 



38 



FOREVER! 



A youth who fled the city, all at war 
And heartsick with town slavery and din, 
Did stray into the wildwood long and far, 
And loud he swore to dwell for aye therein 
In lordly freedom. As he passed he heard 
A calm, uneven song, which filled far lanes 
Of forest with the music of a bird, — 
A low, but cheerful song, whose clear refrains 
Perhaps a mate within her dark nest heard, — 
A free and fearless song, whose clinging strains 
His heartstrings first and then his footsteps drew,- 
A sweet and careless song, like one that rang 
Sometimes within a casement that he knew, 
Sung by a maid unconscious that she sang : — 
Soon homeward bound, he took with him along, 
And still his heart doth sing, that careless song. 



FOLLY. 



Thou knowest not the arrows 

That are blown from poisoned tongues 
And thou knowest not the sorrows 

Of the gentle, or their wrongs. 
Turn thee back, thou foolish maiden, 

From a pathway sharp with stones 
Where the weary, overladen, 

Mid the vultures leave their bones. 

"Nay, I reck not of thy warning, 

'Tho' I call it not untrue: 
Not in hope, nor yet in scorning, 

Shall I do what I shall do. 
Either with me or without me 

Thou must walk with feet that bleed ; 
And I marvel thou can'st doubt me : 

I shall follow, — do thou lead." 

But what strength hast thou to wander 

All the ways that I must go? 
Ah, poor child, I bid thee ponder 

And an idle wish forego. 
Thou could'st only, by thy weakness, 

Hold me back or make me fall. 
I have often praised thy meekness 

Now, farewell ! — thy comrades call. 

" Hear me once and hear me ever. 

Well my feebleness I know ; 
And I fear that I shall never 

All thy hard way live to go; 
And I know too, as thou sayest, 
I shall harm thee with my need; 
But, persuade me as thou mayest, 

I shall follow, — do thou lead." 



COMFORT. 



Where the bare white bones are bleaching 
And the bare black arms upreaching — 
Where last summer's face is blotted — 
Blurred and crumpled — marred and spotted 
Till it never may again 
Lifted be from mire and rain, — 

There I hide me from the city, — 
From men's gazes and their pity — 
From their praises and their scorning — 
In the dullness of the morning — 
In the darkness or the light 
Which is neither day nor night, — 

And, when limping rabbits shiver 
And the loose vines drip and quiver 
And upon the laurel's fingers 
Not a glinting leaf still lingers ; 
Then — ah, then — the blessed cold 
Quenches thought to ashes old. 



AFTER. 



The one that slept had wakened in this child 
Whom both had loved. Beside her he beheld 
A hope that sobbed in passing, wan and wild. 
She knew not; but tho' childish otherwise, 
Before her time her heart of woman swelled 
To dry the secret mist that dimmed his eyes. 

But this from him she hid, as he from her 
And others better, hid his pain. Afar 
She felt one wish within her bosom stir — 
One only wish, — it would not let her rest ; 
She watched him with her pity, like a star 
That throbbeth for another in the west. 

But after, when the storms were overpast, 
When round about him weltered leaden peace 
And she was something more than child at last, 
Their pathways led together, and the two, 
Bearing an old-time yearning, with increase, 
Long silent stood; — from silence then, they knew. 



SERE. 



Where'er I turn the pungent smell of leaves — 

The odor of their fatal fever — flies ; 

For, like a serpent thro' the forest trailing, 

Creeps now the busy one that never dies, 

Crosses the one that never is across, 

And leaveth blight along the track he weaves. 

And yet I cannot hear a sound of wailing, — 

And yet I do not feel a sense of loss. 

As calmly as to watch the billows break, 
I gaze upon this manifold decay, 
Delighting in its green and gleaming jewel 
Of laurel leaf, with settings brown and gray, 
Half thankful that the trees are naked all, 
And loving for their own pathetic sake 
(Not longing for the spring-time and renewal) 
The tender, clinging kisses of the fall : 

Too glad for desolation thus complete 
To draw me down and fervidly caress, — 
To whisper in the hollows of my heart 
The secret things of utter calm distress, 
To hide me and to still me from alarms, — 
To coax me and to lead my weary feet; — 
My only dread that we full soon shall part, — 
The joy of joys to linger in such arms. 



TWILIGHT. 



Ah Twilight, gentle spirit, who arrayest 
Thy weak limbs in a robe of dusky grey 

And every rare and pallid flower betrayest 
To deck with tenderest hues the bier of day, 

Leave thy sad task awhile, if so thou mayest, 
Ah, beauteous mourner, stay! 

Not yet thy dew-bath, lady, hast thou taken : 
Come, cool those burning eyes and weary feet ! 

Not yet the firefly and the moon awaken, — 

Not yet the swallow startleth, blithe and fleet ; — 

Ah, thou who minglest for a heart forsaken 
The bitter and the sweet, 

Strike not that wretched bosom! — all thy sighing 
Will rescue not his breath who lieth there: 

Call thou no more upon the unreplying, 
But with the living such wild sorrow share; 

At thy feet in darkness they are lying 
With loads too great to bear, — 

At thy feet, with weary hands extended 

To thee, that thou mayest take them in thine own ! 
In thine ear they murmur: "It is ended, — 

We can no longer! "in thine ear alone; 
To thy mantle's hem their heads are bended, — 

For thou wilt heed their moan ! 

Thou that art friend to such as have no other, 

Whose hand doth heal the burning blush of shame, 

Ah, bring fresh airs, for many are that smother, 
And counsel bring, for well thou knowest to tame 

The wayward heart, — be patient, like a mother, 
For they are much to blame. 



SONG. 



(i) 

As with upraised wings descending, 
Pigeons end their long, lone flight, — 

So she cometh, slowly wending 
Thro* the waiting hush of night, — 

Comes to speak of love unending, — 
Comes to be my one delight, — 

(2) 

Whispers of no radiant morrow 
After years and years of pain, — 

Sobs a tale of others' sorrow 
They and she can ill sustain, — 

Comes to bring — to bring and borrow 
Courage to go on again. 



45 



FAREWELL. 



Leave me that squirrel dropping his loud hull, 
Yon red-bird flaunting by in waist-coat fine, 

This water-snake, from noon-day ardors dull 
And these few — other laurels all be thine ! 

I shall not lack for pomp, — a glittering spire 
Of sunlight o'er me, some odd reverend trees 

(Old friends that chide not, question not, nor tire), 
A shroud imperial pricked with golden bees. 

Go — let me be — my heart in liquid peace 
Lies like a trout, — yet tell me this alone : 

Thy friend's brief hour hath brought some woe's decrease 
Or like a bird lent music ere 'twas flown. 



4 6 



COME! 



Child, rest awhile in mine thy flitting hand. 

Thy heart's horizon, to the silver brim 

With sunshine filled, if wider, might grow dim. 

Thou can'st not have thy daisies and a ring. 

Ah, if thou listen, do not understand! 

But come and love me, — all thy treasures bring. 

I do not seek the things that glad thine eyes, — 

I do not hear the music in thine ears, 

Nor thou the far faint strains from wondrous years, 

Nor thou the sobs of dear caressing hours; 

And what I have is fairer than the skies, 

But what thou holdest, darling, only flowers. 



47 



THE SECRET PLACE. 



Ah, I would pluck the heart of darkest night 
And I would steal the bleeding sunset's heart 
To hang rare jewels there, or with delight 
Wring tears from thee, beloved tho' thou art, 
To deck with dew my offering of flowers 
That fades and fails within a few short hours. 

Dear, only thou may'st enter — thou and I, — 

And only thou and I may ever know 

Where two far golden lamps that hang on high 

(Gilding the darkness of the aisles below) 

Down alabaster walls soft shadows fling, 

Like plumes that fall from some fair angel's wing. 

Like music is the turning of a door ; 

Like ecstasy the trembling of a veil : 

Ah, lead thou on — be near, but on before, 

For too much hope hath made my courage fail, — 

Ah, if thou wilt, go nearer, love, to them, 

And on the threshold kiss their garments' hem. 

All night long a beauty like the moon, 

All night long a sweetness like the stars ! 

Softer than the waves of afternoon, 

To and from the temple's dome and spars, 

Carrier doves athwart a desert fly 

And white the desert looks up at the sky. 



♦a 






11 



\ 



LBJL '12 



THE SECRET PLACE 



AND OTHER POEMS 



/ 



BY 

CHARLES W. RUSSELL 

Author of 
"Lays oj the Seasons." 

(privately printed) 




ron'moWi .in n. \, lt \ j_ 



PRESS OF GIBSON BROS. 
WASHINGTON, D. C. 



